


an Extended Ending

by Aleczandra



Category: DC Animated Universe, Justice League: The Flashpoint Paradox
Genre: Ben Affleck's Batman, Beta Wanted, Henry Cavill's Superman, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleczandra/pseuds/Aleczandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens at the end of Justice League: The Flashpoint Paradox when the Flash leaves a deeply moved Batman and the sound barrier breaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an Extended Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Batman and Superman are described as Ben Affleck's and Henry Cavill's depictions.
> 
> Disclaimer: "I've all the demons of Hell in my mind. My only salvation is to vent them on paper!" - Le Marquis de Sade, _Quills_

~~~~He hears the sound barrier break before he even makes it into the Batcave, and unlike Barry who was just here a heartbeat ago – but must be leagues away now – he doesn’t just stop on the top floor next to his workstation. Instead, he lands on the lower level, his voice inquisitive, asking for permission to approach.

“Bruce?”

He makes a small sound, but he is aware it’s enough for the other to pick it up and understand he may approach. He also knows that even before his foot lands on the upper deck, he’s noticed that Bruce’s heartbeat is running a little faster, and that his breath is just that slightly more ragged. This may explain his silence, and why his approach seems hesitative. He gets closer nonetheless, and when he rests a hand on the back of the rotating chair, Bruce immediately turns and presses his forehead against that stomach, not knowing he needs the contact until it happens. The letter is still clutched between his fingers, but he doesn’t see it through tear-clouded eyes.

Superman’s body is all strong planes and hard grooves, but Clark’s touch is soft as his fingers come to soothe his hair and knead at the base of his skull in a way that at some point became familiar.

“What is it?”

He can hear Clark’s concern in his rich voice; he doesn’t need superhuman senses to detect it, just familiarity. Concern, and perhaps surprise: Bruce Wayne is not a man to show his feelings.

“Flash was here just a moment ago, with a story about breaking the chronal barrier and going back in time to prevent his mother’s murder, but thereby changing Earth’s time stream. An Earth where things were not at all the same; where Barry was just a man and–” his voice catches. “Where I died in Crime Alley and my father never did.” He pauses, but those fingers rubbing at his uncovered nape coax him into continuing. “I didn’t think much of it, as he is the only one with the recollection, until he gave me this.”

He hands him the letter as he wraps that waist with an arm, resting the side of his face against the cold fabric of the Els’ uniform. Bruce lets Clark read it as he shuts his eyes, listening to Clark’s heartbeat. It soothes him.

“Your father’s handwriting.”

Clark would know: he’s seen it multiple times behind family photos. The hand on his neck pauses for a moment, then tightens around his shoulder, and the steady breathing tells him he’s reading it.

“He’s proud of you.” 

A simple statement, yet he feels it all again: the pain, the regret that his father could still be alive, the wish that he could have seen him again, and the bittersweet of knowing Thomas Wayne wouldn’t have it any other way. It all tangles within him.

It hurts, but it is already being soothed by hope. 

He takes the letter from the other man’s hand and leaves it on the working table, its content already committed to memory. As he leans back into the chair, he pulls Clark onto his lap. Bruce watches him understand, as Clark straddles him and sits on him. He looks up into warm and large blue eyes, filled with kindness and empathy. He sees them travel lower and settle on the Batman logo, Clark’s fingers resting on the muscles of his chest, his eyes pensive as he strokes the sign’s sides, until their gazes lock again. He lets his lids fall shut when the face descends closer, and meets that mouth for a much needed kiss.

It’s soothing, the languid way lips move against lips, and when he finally parts them, he can taste the salt of his own tears on Clark’s lips. Their tongues meet in equal unhurriedness, thick muscles moving against one another until both have to break the kiss, for even Superman needs to catch his breath. When their eyes meet again, however, he thinks that maybe Superman’s soft panting has more to do with the faint flush on those sharp cheekbones than with a need for air. He reaches up to cup a cheek, feeling the other lean into it immediately, and presses his lips to the other side of his face.

“Not here. The bedroom.” He’s not too sure who speaks the words – sometime they both think as one – but it wouldn’t surprise him that it was Clark: he must have understood just how much comforting Bruce needs tonight.

They slowly untangle, pull away and stand off the chair, which creaks from the loss of both their weights. He watches Clark take the letter and fold it with such reverence as one would give the single, most important relic of this world. When he looks up again, Bruce is surprised to find a faint blush on those cheeks, but something the shorter man sees in the hazel eyes clearly dissipates any remaining shyness.

In silence, they make their way up to the manor, and neither speak until they are in Bruce’s bedroom. Tonight, before anything else, they shed the clothes of the heroes and only once out of them do Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent meet skin to skin in the dimness of the room. 

Warm palms run up his arms and map his torso, a mouth leaves wet trails along shoulder and collarbone, and soft thighs move against his own, soothing his soul with every touch. 

And inside, a child’s tears stop falling.


End file.
